A/N: No profit is being made of this, nor is malice intended. Features an original character, which I retain claim to. All rights reserved by the appropriate companies and individuals. All characters in West Side Story belong to their creators. I guess that I could lay claim to the basic plot of WSS as my own because it is based off Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet and that play is based off old common-access romantic tragedies, but I'm content to just give you this story for now.

Chapter 1: The Tallest Man, The Broadest Shoulders

"Anybodys. Bum a smoke off youse?"

She turned to glare at him, her head burning with the red light reflected off the street below, and with a shrug reached into her jacket, shook out a white tube and handed it to him. Then, as if reminded of her own cravings, she shook out another tube for herself and leaned forward to use the flame he offered. They slouched against the sun-warmed brick wall and stared down at their feet dangling over the edge of the wooden steps, down and out to the afternoon alleyway, and across to the hemorrhaging sun.

"So, you got your cig out of me, Stilts," She said between fierce puffs, "Ain't you gonna go on in and join em?"

He exhaled slowly, drawled out his vowels, "Ain't you?"

"Asshole," she murmured darkly, "I'm having a smoke."

"Think that's the best idea, buddy-boy? Don't you know they'll stunt your growth?" He stared at the crown of her head, half a foot shorter even when sitting, amused by the way she fairly shook with rage, refusing to accommodate others or to admit that others would not accommodate her.

"I'm keeping guard too."

"Yeah, you gonna protect us if any girl-scouts come around, looking for a fight?"

She flicked her cigarette ashes to the ground neatly and turned to glare at him, her fists clinching.

He chuckled softly, "Got something to say, sweetcheeks?"

"Yeah," she said, throwing her head back defiantly, "But youse probably too stupid to get it, you Polack son of a whore."

He reached a hand to his chest melodramatically, "Anybodys, I think you just broke my heart."

"Didn't know you had one, Stilts," She said, sucking at the filter now, acting and feeling mean. He stared at her intense profile: the long straight eyelashes, the short cropped hair, the lips like a fish as she pursed them together intently. And her body, tense in the narrow shoulders, her hips strangely wide and unbalanced with her feet long and too large to ever let her be pretty. That was the joke, that she was anybody's girl, but who'd want her? She wasn't too bad though, just strange, he decided finally. Not good, but not bad eithers.

Thinking, he felt calm, ready, like the fat summer storm that comes rolling into beat the city with self-contained assurity and calm. They were going to rumble, and they had to and he was going to fight and there was no way around the fact. His mom's mom used to say something in German- something meaning whatever will be, will be.

"What?" She barked, meeting his spacey gaze hostily.

He smirked to himself. Strange girl that one. Probably been told that her whole life. Like if Action was a chick. "My grandma used to have an expression about girls that wore pants. Said they always were looking to get inside another pair."

"Ain't you gonna get back to the game now, Stilts?" She said, her eyes glaring death threats, as she jerked her hand to the green rooftop door of Geetar's apartment. He lived with his slightly older brother and always could be trusted to find beer and cards for a poker game on a special night.

"They're too goddamn loud. I think I'm going to get a hangover tomorrow," He said as way of explanation.

"Ya should probably go in there soon, though." She said it lightly, her eyes dashing over to look at him.

"That so?" He mumbled.

She glanced over at him, held his gaze once he caught hers. She tried to shrug. "They don't really trust you that much. Ain't sure if they can."

"'Why? Cuz my brother used to be a Deuce?"

"'Cuz you'd rather have a smoke with me than get drunk and play poker."

He couldn't help but grin around the cigarette then, a little wolfishly. He decided he liked her better like this. Honest, self-effacing, willing to talk as one outcast to another. "That's not true, I'm plenty drunk now."

"Why you do it, Stilts?" She said in a voice so small he wasn't sure she said anything in words.

"Hell, you don't belong with them either," he said finally, crushing the butt under his toe. She let hers drop down to the street below, a tiny hiss of steam escaping inaudibly as it fizzled out against the wet pavement.

"Fuck you," She said, throwing her chin back, "I'd least I'd go in if they asked me to. At least I'm loyal."

"You telling me to go away," he said, his eyes half-lidded though he was standing up straight now, a broad hand gripping the warm bricks for balance. She knew what a threat looked like from him, but kept her shoulders squared, refusing to retract her anger, she nodded slightly.

"You say you're a Jet, go be a Jet," She said hotly.

"You say you're a Jet," he countered.

"I'm…keeping watch." She gestured inarticulately at the street.

"They're too fucking loud," He said, his voice rising adamantly.

She dropped his gaze, finally. His rage fell to the streets below, fizzling out against wet pavement. "Okay," She mouthed.

"Okay?"

"Yeah," She said, leaning against the wall again. He slouched next to her, careful to avoid eye contact. "I understand. Nervous about tomorrow."

He shrugged, "If it's gonna happen, you know, it's just going to. Nothing to do about it."

"Yeah," she said, "Still, I'm a little. Or dunno, maybe excited."

"Think they'll let ya fight?"

"Once it gets going, they can't do anything to stop me now can they?"

"So you'll hang around in some dark corner until you can get in on the action. But still you're scared," He whistled. "You're one funny girl."

"Yeah, your grandma got any expressions 'bout them?"

He smiled, glancing at her, "Why you wanna fight Anybodys?"

She shrugged, "Why do you?"

"It's different for me. I gotta. I'm not good for nothing else." He leaned his head against the wall," You know they didn't teach me anything in school You know how our schools are, pieces of shit with teachers that don't care, they wouldn't be working 'round here if they did care. I can't get a decent job like Tony can. I mean Tony, he's a good solid guy, grew up speaking English, but a lot of us, we got a little accent, we got funny last names that nobody can say. I can't pass."

She narrowed her eyes, "The factories."

"Oh Jesus god, the goddamn factories. I couldn't ever work there. I don't wanna give up my life. Not yet. Not like the guys you see around. Not like them." He pointed to a shadowed group of stoop-shouldered figures in the distance. "Come home, get drunk, yell at the kids, go right back to work. Die. That's it. That's all they do."

"That's it," she echoed.

"But it's different for you. You don't gotta worry 'bout that. You can get a job sewin stuff or selling things."

She laughed, a few dark breaths of air as she leaned the back of her head against the brick wall.

"What?" He said, offended.

She shook her head, tears rolling down her face.

"What the hell?" He grabbed her shoulders harshly as she shook, "What's so damn funny?" He'd told her everything about himself, how terrified he was in words he'd never said before, and all she could do was laugh at him.

She opened her eyes, "You really don't know me do ya Stilts?"

"Whaddya mean?"

Her dark eyes glistened with tears, "I can't sew a damn thing, and who do you know'd wanna buy something from me?"

She looked up at his face, dark in the backlit sunset. He did not laugh. She squirmed, feeling his fingers pressed tensely into her shoulders. She felt the sandy harsh ridges of the cheap brick tenements. "Stilts?" She said cautiously.

"What are you selling?" He murmured.

"Ya scared now Stilts?" She spat her words out like venom, finding his most tender wound and rubbing salt into it. She twisted her shoulders away from him, but he was not shocked anymore by her barbs.

He moved closer, peering into her brown eyes, "What are you trying to sell now, Anybodys? What're you trying to pull, wearin' your pants, smokin' all alone and acting like you belong here? Askin' me if I'm scared like…" He caught her flailing wrists, grasped for words, "like you're some tough shit. Like you know me. You dike."

She narrowed her eyes, "You're no mystery, Stiltsy-boy. You're not different from the rest of those guys in there. You're all pent up, just ready to explode, the only difference is you've got yourself convinced that you can handle all of it. That you ain't scared by what you feel. But you got your fears right here." She cocked her head in the direction of the factory district, "Right over there. I know you Stilts."

He released a wrist, shoved her back against the wall, his face inches away from hers. He remembered when the science class had gone to the planetarium one time. He remembered seeing a film of a star explode, and they'd said it had all been quiet. That it had taken millions of years for the signs under the surface to boil over. In one silent explosion.

He said the only word he could, "Dike."

"Pussy," She spat back, "You're just a big scared pussy."

Her breath smelled like tobacco. And he knew for the first time that he was scared for everything. He knew that she had done it to him too. And he hated her for that. Like a collision in space, like a violent eruption without sound, he brought his lips to hers.